


Framework

by greenflyer13



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Consensual Somnophilia (kind of?), Identity Reveal, Light Bondage, Light Power Exchange, M/M, Objectification, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Peter Parker/Bottom Wade Wilson, mind-sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25835071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenflyer13/pseuds/greenflyer13
Summary: After an encounter with some aliens, Wade’s consciousness is taking a ride in Spider-Man’s mind. Thank goodness they can talk, at least. Doctor Strange is probably the only one who can fix it, but he has other things to deal with, so… what is there to do when Deadpool can feel everything that’s happening to his unconscious body, and Peterlikesit?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 254





	Framework

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags! The author’s note at the end gives more detailed content warnings if you’d like.
> 
> Thanks a million to my fantastic beta reader CuteAsAMuntin!
> 
> [White]  
> {Yellow}  
>  **Peter Parker**  
>  _Wade Wilson_

[Where are we?]

Deadpool jerked his head up off the ground. He needed to get up and help Spide—Wait. Where the fuck was he?

The off-white walls were lined with built-in wood counters and cabinets on two sides. The main exits were two closed doors in opposite corners on the otherwise blank walls to Wade’s left and right. The only other notable feature was the window above the double-sink on the counter opposite Wade that led to—

“What the fuck?”

**WHAT THE FUCK. Why does it sound like DEADPOOL is in my HEAD?**

Spider-Man’s voice rang out loudly from every direction at once. Wade looked around wildly before it finally hit him and his jaw dropped of its own accord. There was _no way_ this was happening. The world outside the window was larger-than-life—and seemed to be a continuation of the fight he had been in the middle of when he got knocked out by the magical-alien-whatever-they-were that had been troublesome enough for Spider-Man to call him in for an assist.

Spider-Man, who he could still hear perfectly but not see despite his vantage point of their fight. A vantage point currently featuring webs that were shooting out of the _arms that were extended from just below the window Wade was looking out of._

[This is _not_ what I meant when I said I wanted to get in that twink.]

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

**Heads up!**

Spider-Man’s voice came again as he swung in front of Doctor Strange to guard the sorcerer from another hit. They had both been trying to do just that a second ago, before one of the three-foot-tall, moth-like aliens (who were actually kind of cute but in a terrible, terrifying sort of way) had landed on him, and then—

{I _told_ you that you shouldn’t have let it do that, dumbass.}

“Well how was I supposed to know they were going to knock me straight into Spidey’s head? What the fuck is going on?”

**Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me…**

This time, Wade could tell Spider-Man’s voice was coming from outside the window along with the rest of the sounds of the fight, just much closer up.

_Fuuuuck._

Deadpool couldn’t do anything but watch as Peter helped Doctor Strange fend off the last of the moth aliens, while standing over—Yep, that was his body, alright, lying on the ground. And was he right on top of one of his guns? That’d explain the pain in his back. 

That was about when Deadpool realized just how stuck he was. No matter how many times he reached out to move the rigid steel object digging into his back, his hand met no resistance and his movements didn’t appear to have any effect on Spidey; it was pressing into his back _out there_ , not _in here_. His prone body didn’t even twitch.

{Fuck. Well, at least we’re somewhere interesting. I wonder what we can find in Spidey’s head?}

Deadpool paused, the box’s prompting persuading him to look around again. The cabinets to the left of the window seemed to be filled with decorative glass plates. His eyes hurt looking at them—the photos they depicted all seemed to be out of focus.

On the opposite side of the room was a large box in one corner and a floor-to-ceiling cabinet filled with what looked like rotating pans of sand in the other. 

“What the fuck is _that?"_ Wade walked over to pull the cabinet door open, but his hand just waved right through the handle and he felt a sharp pain in his head.

**Quit that!**

Deadpool looked out the window. Was that command actually meant for _him?_

[Does that mean we can’t get out either door?]

Right, a more important question, one he doubted would come with a satisfactory answer. Of course, he tried it anyway. And of course, it didn’t work. _FUCK._

He looked out the window again; it seemed like most of the moth-things were gone. He caught snippets of other Avengers dealing with other small skirmishes, but this one seemed to be mostly over. 

Then he heard Doctor Strange’s voice through the window. “I’m going to need to go after them and seal their portal so they can’t come back.”

 **Wait! I think something’s wrong with Wade! He’s never been knocked out for this long without actually being dead... and I think he might be in my head,** Spider-Man’s voice came out in a panicked rush.

“Yeah, I can see that, kid, but I have to go. This shouldn’t take longer than a week. You can probably fix it yourself, with that framework,” Doctor Strange dismissed, then threw up one of his dumb circle-y magic-y things and left.

[A whole WEEK? We’re trapped for a week?]

{In Spider-Man’s head? Oooh, I wonder if we’ll get to see him naked!}

“Yeah, that’s gonna be hot,” Deadpool said, resigning himself to keep watching the window no matter what. Might as well make the best of it, right? Unfortunate that Spidey probably didn’t spend as much time admiring his ass as Deadpool did, but maybe he’d take off his mask in the mirror?

 **Oh, this is gonna be a headache,** Spider-Man said, scooping up Deadpool’s body and—

“Holy FUCK, I can _feel_ that,” Deadpool said, the impression of Spidey’s hands on his back and thighs completely disconcerting when there was no motion associated with it. Holy shit, was that the feeling of wind on his face?

 **Great, now I know he can feel what I do to him.** Peter seemed to be talking to himself as he webbed them across town, but still hadn’t actually spoken to Wade directly.

{Oooh, are we gonna see Spidey’s hideout?}

[Hell yeah, okay, this is getting better and better.]

**Fuck, that’s hot.**

_Wait, what?_ Deadpool didn’t feel anything hot. Maybe he couldn’t feel temperatures? But nope, that wind was actually cold as fuck; he must have a tear in his suit somewhere, because the chill was getting in.

Deadpool watched out the window as Spider-Man swung them to a small apartment in Queens. Deadpool wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but this seemed to fit him—small and scrappy, filled with an amalgam of what was obviously second-hand furniture. Spidey placed him down on a couch, and— _ah, fuck it’s weird to see my body like that_ —Wade could feel the cushions were softer than they looked.

Spider-Man seemed to be moving around the apartment now, turning a few lights on, closing the windows, and covering a scrape on his arm Wade hadn’t seen him get. He took his Spidey-suit off— _Damn, why can’t he be just a bit more self-centered? No mirrors?_ —and settled in a chair near where Wade’s body was.

Then the window went black. Wade thought for a second that Spidey was trying to sleep, but then he heard a noise behind himself. _Inside_ the mind-room.

He spun around, feeling his hands move up to defend himself more than directing them there, but it was— _Spider-Man?_

“Yeah, I mean, what did you think?” The kid he was looking at checked himself over as he spoke, and his hands almost immediately flew to his face. He seemed to realize he wasn’t wearing a mask and in the same second resigned himself to it. “Fuck it. My name’s Peter.”

{Holy shit, Spidey is hot as fuck.}

“Holy shit, was that Yellow?” Spidey—Peter, apparently—was looking at him like he was fascinating. It dawned on Wade that he didn’t have a mask here either, and Peter looking at him like that was distinctly uncomfortable.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Okay, your mouth wasn’t moving, which meant I just heard your thoughts,” Peter was looking around, and finally seemed to open a cupboard at random, pulling out a Deadpool mask and handing it to him. “So, I’m just going to keep talking out loud until you interrupt me so that you don’t tell me anything you don’t want to. So, what caused that stab of pain?”

[This isn’t good.]

“Aaaaand that was White, wasn’t it? You really weren’t lying about them; I can see you in triplicate,” Peter babbled on. “Also, what can you see? Was I hearing your thoughts before, too? I don’t think I could have been because I wasn’t hearing the boxes. So were you speaking out loud?”

Wade finally caught up to Peter, who could apparently talk and think a hundred miles a minute. And _he_ was the one with a reputation for his mouth? “Yeah, I was talking out loud before,” _and I could see what you see and hear you talk out loud, I think?_

“Oh, good, that means we can talk to each other. Fuck this.” Peter vanished.

The window brightened up again, still viewing the living room of that little apartment.

“Wait. Where the fuck am I?” Wade demanded loudly.

Peter sighed. “You’re in my head, I guess.” He couldn’t tell if Peter was whispering or if he had just projected his voice internally, but it was at a much more tolerable volume now, at least.

“Does it always look like this? Why are there decorative plates in the cabinets? How do I get out?” That wasn’t necessarily the order Wade wanted the questions to be answered, but fuck it.

“Yes it does, those are memories, and I don’t fucking know,” the webslinger answered shortly.

“Why does your head look like _this?_ Are you okay?” Deadpool hadn’t necessarily meant the question to come out that way, but honestly, who was okay? Who had a mind this goddamn organized and nice?

Peter gave a harsh laugh. “I needed the room because…” Wade suddenly had an extra awareness of the box in the back of the room. Peter wasn’t _in_ the room with him, but the box was opening, and a disk like the plates was being taken and placed on the window. Wade could see a new scene; it must have been a memory.

Out the window was the outline of a man he didn’t know bleeding out on the sidewalk. He had seen thousands of things worse than this, but the image hit _hard;_ whatever version of Petey had seen this happen had been smaller, more innocent, than anyone seeing it should have been. And there was a lump in Wade’s throat, an intense feeling that wasn’t his: guilt.

_"Fuck."_

Then the memory disk was put back in the box, and it was closed—flaps snapping shut with a final thud.

“Sorry, ’Pool, I didn’t realize it would affect you like that too. I just needed a place to store my thoughts, so they didn’t get in the way. And so they could remind me what I need to do. I made this room so I could… meditate, I guess.” Spider-Man sounded exhausted.

“My name’s Wade.”

“Wade,” Peter repeated.

{Ooooh, I want to hear him _moan_ that name.}

[Are you out of your mind? He might be able to hear you!]

{Uh, yeah! I’m technically, actually, _really_ out of our mind!}

Wade held his breath, but it didn’t sound like Peter had heard that exchange at all. _Phew, at least now I can think about his ass in private._

They were silent for a moment, Wade watching out the window, and Spidey apparently just watching the room in general.

With Wade’s body in it.

Was Peter watching _him?_ It was kind of interesting, maybe. Wade could just barely see where his chest was rising and falling. For a second, he tried to change the rhythm of it; his chest could feel the same things, so why couldn’t he send a signal? But nope, nothing.

Ugh, this mask was going to get itchy soon.

“Can you really feel what’s going on with your body?”

Wade worried for a second that Peter actually _could_ read his thoughts, but then realized they were probably both trying to think through the peculiarities of what was going on.

“Yep! Nice couch, by the way, Petey-pie, although I definitely prefer to sleep on my stomach,” Wade said, trying to defer some of his tension by focusing on something else. He did _not_ want Peter to have to take his mask off or look at his scars.

Peter huffed a laugh and walked over to flip him over carefully. Easily.

Oh _fuck_ , Spidey—Peter—was so _strong_. Why was it so hot to be manhandled like that? Wade was profoundly thankful he was now on his stomach. He could feel his body respond with _way_ more interest than the situation really demanded. Thank fuck Peter didn’t have to see that.

“Ah, fuck, that’s hot.”

Wade thought he had mis-heard for a second. Did _he_ somehow say that out loud? Peter was already moving away from him, moving into his bedroom, slipping on a pair of sweatpants.

“Shit. Sorry, Wade, I didn’t realize I was talking to myself.”

{Wait, what was hot?}

[Was he talking about us?]

“Hhhhhnnngggh…” Wade _knew_ he had something to say other than that, but he couldn’t think of it right now.

Peter didn’t say anything for a minute, apparently just staring at the bedroom wall for a while before going back out to the living room.

“Do you need your suit off to sleep?”

Fuck. “Oh, no, baby boy! Don’t worry your pretty little self about me, I’ll be fine!”

“We might have to stay like this for a _week_ , Wade. You should get comfortable. Would you like your mask off, at least?”

Deadpool knew he had a good point; while he could take the fake mask Peter had handed him off, he couldn’t get rid of the leather feeling that was sure to get itchy against his irritable skin.

[Did you hear him, though? He wants to take your _suit_ off.]

Wade didn’t know if he’d be able to handle the kind of manhandling that would require without actually embarrassing the fuck out of himself. Why was it so hot to be there, touched by Peter, totally feeling it, and not able to do anything about it? Now was _not_ the time to be learning these things about himself.

“I mean… you can take it off if you want, Petey-Pie. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I’ve seen your skin before, Wade. It’s not important.”

Wade watched as Peter gently removed his leather mask and laid his head back on a pillow. Seeing what was happening to his body as he experienced the physical sensations from a distance was still weird, but it was getting more and more normal pretty quickly. It was probably helped by the fact that feeling Peter’s hands on his skin was even better than Wade had thought it would be.

“And the rest of your suit?” Peter prompted, once the mask was removed.

Wade wanted to say yes, just to see what would happen, and even knowing that it was an awful, awful idea— He couldn’t make himself say no.

He watched (and felt) Peter’s hands as they moved over his suit, carefully unbuckling the leather straps one by one. Then Peter’s hands were on him, slowly peeling off the layers of leather and kevlar, and— _I knew this was going to happen, I should have said something, fuck fuck fuck fuck_ —rolled him over, to Wade’s instant embarrassment. It felt so good to be free of his suit, and Peter’s gentle hands felt so good, and watching Peter was so fucking hot… and there was his dick, sticking up as proud as you please. _Fuck_.

Peter didn’t look away.

“Wade.”

Wade gulped down a breath. “I’m sorry, Peter, I really am. Sorry about that.”

“I don’t—do you want me to… keep going?”

Wade’s brain went offline, and the boxes weren’t any help either. Did he really mean what he thought he meant? Did Peter actually want… him?

He waited too long.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter’s voice sounded choked, harsh. The window view moving suddenly away from Wade. “That’s—fucked up, I’m fucked up, I’m so sorry, you’re not even—I mean, you are _here_ , but you’re not _here_ here, you can’t—”

“ _Please_ keep going,” Wade blurted in a panic. He was _not_ going to give up the chance for Peter to—do something? Fuck him, hopefully? Even if he was—well, _was_ he unconscious, if his consciousness was right here watching the show? It didn’t matter. He wanted this to happen.

Peter was quiet for a second. “I can’t believe I’m considering this.” 

Wade felt his stomach drop. Of _course_ Spider-Man didn’t want him. “It’s okay, Petey-pie, I know I’m disgusting. You can just… cover me with a blanket and leave me for the week, it’s alright.”

“No, no, it’s not that, Wade, you’re _beautiful,”_ Peter said, and Wade was able to watch as Peter glanced over his body, pausing at his muscles, arms and thighs. “It’s just… you can’t do anything. You can’t move, you can’t stop me, you can only watch.” 

Wade thought if he was in control of his own body, he might be _drooling_. Peter sounded guilty, choked, but underneath that, the way he talked about it? Wade could tell he thought the idea was _hot_. Oh—he _could_ send some signal back and forth to his body—he could see (and feel) his dick twitch. 

Wade wanted Peter to fuck him, now he just had to make Petey-Pie get with the program. 

“Peter, if you fuck me right now, that will be the hottest thing that’s happened to me this decade. Wait, no, forget this decade, my whole _life_. I can feel everything you do to me, and you _like_ that, don’t you?”

Wade heard Peter’s soft moan, and the window of vision briefly dipped far enough down to see the tent in his pants. 

“You can do anything you want to me, and I can’t do a thing about it. _Damn_ , hotcheeks, this is going to be in my spank-bank _forever_. Have you been thinking about this?” Wade got an idea. “Have you been thinking about how you could just web me up, do whatever you wanted to me? Your webs are so strong, baby boy, you could do whatever you wanted and I wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. You could get me hard and ride my dick, or you could just web me down and fuck me. You could just use me like a toy, baby, you’re so strong,” Wade rambled. He could _see_ how hard his own cock was, and he hoped it was egging Peter on. 

He tried to touch himself, in the room, but the pressure of his own hand in whatever mind space this was didn’t do a _thing_. It wasn’t really real. 

_FUCK._

“Oh, _shit_ , Peter, _please_ do something, I can’t touch myself here,” And just like that, Wade flipped from teasing to actual begging. Would he be left with this stupid fucking hard-on for an entire week? 

Peter seemed to notice the change, too. “ _Fuck.”_ The word that slipped from Peter’s lips was almost a moan, and Wade saw his dick twitch again. “You promise to speak up if I do something that doesn’t feel good, something you don’t want?”

“ _Yes,”_ Wade said, not bothering to mention there was hardly _anything_ Peter could do that he wouldn’t want, and before the sound had even left his lips, Peter was touching him. 

The sensation was weird all over again, but incredibly hot. Wade had still been trying—and failing—to touch his own dick in the mind-room, so when Peter reached forward and grabbed it himself the relief was intense and completely surprising. 

“Yessss,” Wade couldn’t help but moan, as Peter’s smooth, strong fingers stroked his shaft gently. This was definitely one of the weirdest things he’d ever experienced; he could _see_ Peter jerk him off, and feel it, but from completely different perspectives. 

“Wait here,” Peter said, and then laughed at himself. “Well, come with me, I guess.” 

The pressure on Wade’s dick ceased, and he almost whined. What was Peter planning? The view from the window went back into Peter’s bedroom and to a small drawer next to his bed. Wade got only a limited view of some sex supplies; a big bottle of lube, condoms, more sex toys than he was expecting from innocent-looking, straight-laced (alright, not _that_ straight) Spidey, and—was that circuitry? What the fuck was going on there? Wade wanted to ask more, but he didn’t want to derail the direction this was going. Peter was bringing the lube back to where Wade’s body was on the couch, and he couldn’t wait. 

Peter set it down. Wade guessed what was coming, but he couldn’t do anything but watch. He couldn’t make it go faster, couldn’t grab Peter’s face and kiss him, couldn’t do anything but lie there and wait. _Fuck_ this was hot. 

Peter was just _looking_ at his body, and he wanted to ask what he was thinking, but he had also gotten the inkling that Peter wanted him to be quiet. Then, Peter picked him up, scooping the lube bottle up with him, and carried him back to his bed. 

“Here, this will work better.” Peter arranged Wade’s body face-up on the bed, taking care to rest his head on a pillow, and then webbed one ankle and then the other to the ceiling, spreading his legs and leaving Wade’s ass completely exposed. 

_Holy fuck,_ Wade thought, not even able to make words. He had guessed at what Spidey wanted to do, but this confirmed it, and _fuck_ was he here for it. 

Peter stripped off his own clothes quickly and placed the lube on a side table, pumping some into his hands before rubbing them together, warming it up.

Wade knew he had already had the thought, but this was so _weird_ and _so hot_. He had never seen his own ass like this before. Sure, he thought his ass might be one of his best features, in his suit—gotta rake in the admirers somehow—but seeing it like _this?_ Tied up and ready for Spidey to use, however he wanted? Those slender, clever hands, rubbing on his cheeks and in between and— _oh, fuck_ , there was Peter’s finger, lubed up and pressing at his entrance, and even in the mind-room Wade had to sit down. Holy _fuck_. 

Wade could only moan as Peter slowly pressed inside of him. Really, he could _only_ moan. He could tell Peter how good this felt, but he didn’t really need to for it to be obvious, and there wasn’t anything else he could _do_. Wade wanted to tell Peter that he could take more, that he could take a little pain, that he didn’t mind, but from the sound of Peter’s soft, catching breathing, this was _exactly_ what he wanted.

Wade had never watched himself get fucked before, but he was up for anything, and to be honest, his ugly skin was starting to slip to the back of his mind with how little Peter was focusing on it, instead just admiring his own finger sliding in and out of Wade’s ass—and then Peter slid another finger in, and _Jesus fuck_ that was good. 

Wade watched as Peter slowly worked him open, adding a third finger, and then—

Peter’s hands reached for the drawer again, searching at the bottom for a box of what looked like long-neglected condoms. 

“You don’t have to use one on me if you don’t want, Petey-Pie. I can’t get or give anything you need to be worried about,” Wade spoke up. He wouldn’t have said anything; Peter seemed to _love_ working him apart without his input, but he wanted to _feel_ Peter inside of him, he wanted to be able to feel his come in his ass or on his skin or—holy fuck, could Peter just use him as a toy for the whole _week?_ Just leave him tied up like this, with come in his ass, waiting for the next time Peter would use him… That thought was _hot_. 

In lieu of a reply, Peter snapped the drawer shut, and was now lubing himself up and positioning himself at Wade’s entrance. Wade wished for a second that he weren’t here, inside Spidey’s mind, because he wanted to take a closer look at that beautiful red dick, but Peter wasn’t focusing any attention on his own body at all. He was just looking over Wade, and Wade didn’t know if he’d ever felt so _wanted_. There wasn’t any faking this; Wade knew he didn’t look that good in person, knew his scars stood out more, but what he was seeing _was what Peter saw_. Fuck. 

All thoughts were wiped away at the sight—and _feeling_ —of Peter’s dick slowly sliding into his ass. Spidey’s dick was thinner than his own, but maybe a bit longer, and it was plenty. The feeling of slowly being filled was somehow more exhilarating when he could see exactly just how much there was left to go. 

Wade was moaning and rocking into the sensation as he leaned against the counter and looked eagerly out the window, but of course there was nothing he could actually do. He just had to wait as Peter entered him, inch by inch. Spidey was making sure he wasn’t hurting Wade, but he was so impatient; he wanted to be _wrecked_. 

When Peter was finally, _finally_ , all the way inside of him, he stayed there, still, stroking his hands along Wade’s body. Even with the feeling of the hands running over his own skin, this view felt almost like he was watching Peter fuck by _himself;_ he may have been taking the utmost care with Wade’s body, but this was for _him._ He _wanted this_. 

Wade was suddenly aware of moisture in his eyes, and was glad that they were closed, that Peter couldn’t see. It wasn’t from any pain, it was the overwhelming feeling of looking into Peter’s experience and finding himself _wanted_. 

Peter’s hands finally found Wade’s hips, pressing his thumbs into the larger man’s waist, and he started thrusting, slowly, as if teasing himself. Wade had had _more_ than enough time to adjust, and the feeling was _heavenly_. The thrusts became faster, harsher, more insistent. While Wade couldn’t (and didn’t _want_ to) lose the feeling that he was Peter’s plaything, Peter seemed to note the _exact_ moment he found Wade’s prostate, making his dick jump, and he _kept hitting it._

Wade was totally overcome at this point, reduced to a whimpering mess on the floor of the mind-room, barely able to keep his focus enough to prop himself up so he could watch Peter pound his unresponsive body. It felt _fantastic;_ forget fueling the spank bank, he would be Peter’s sex doll again _whenever he wanted._

Peter was now using full force, or mostly. Wade wondered if he could go harder, with his Spidey-strength, but he didn’t want to ask. More than that, he _couldn’t_ ask. Each movement from Peter pressed on his favorite spot, and he could hardly _think;_ he felt like he was rippling, pulses of electricity washing over his body. He could probably come just from this, if Peter kept going—

But then Peter’s rhythm started to change, and Wade could tell he was close to the edge. He was caught between so many thoughts, none of them coherent. Could this just go on a little longer? Could Peter go again, right away? And a little part of him thought, what if Peter didn’t let him come? What if he was just trapped here, waiting for the next time Peter wants to use him? 

That idea pushed him even closer to the edge, and then Peter reached out and was stroking his dick, giving him that _last little bit_ to push him into the best orgasm he’d ever had in his life. There was something absolutely inevitable about it. Wade couldn’t do anything to prevent having an orgasm absolutely _ripped_ out of his body—he had half a thought that if he could have passed out, he might have. He couldn’t do anything to spur it on, couldn’t push himself into Peter’s hand as it crested. He just had to lie there as it washed over him, stronger and stronger and stronger as Peter gave a few last thrusts into his body. 

As it was, he got to see himself come all over his chest, and Peter twitching and jerking as he spent himself into his body with a gasp, the loudest noise he’d made the entire time. He _never_ wanted to forget that sight. 

Wade’s body felt completely blissed out, satisfied, heavy. For the first time since this whole thing started, he felt the pull of sleep, and wondered what would happen—would they dream together? But then Peter was pulling himself out, slowly, and the twinge of overstimulation and discomfort woke him back up slightly.

Neither Peter nor Wade spoke as he watched Peter undo the webs and walk to the bathroom for a warm washcloth. He got to watch—and feel—the webhead softly clean his chest, dick, ass; Wade still felt heavy, boneless, and _so_ happy. He got to watch as Peter cleaned himself, as well, pausing to drop the cloth on the floor before moving to snuggle Wade, putting his head on his chest. 

Wade had almost drifted off again when Peter finally spoke. 

“Was that alright?”

“That was so much more than _alright_ , baby boy. You can do that to me _anytime!”_

Peter snorted half a laugh, hiding his face in Wade’s chest; a useless move, since Wade couldn’t see his face anyway, but it made his heart swell. Wade had to continue. 

“I _mean it_ , Petey-pie. You should just do that to me whenever you want. You can web me up so I don’t move, and you know what we should do if I squirm accidentally?”

“What?”

“Practice. As much as possible.” 

That got another laugh out of Spidey, and Wade was content, for now. He could only hope that Peter would want the same thing. 

Peter must have been falling asleep, because the view on the window went black. They were quiet for a moment, thoughts drifting, and Wade looked around the room he was in again. His eyes were drawn again to the cabinet with pans of sand in the back of the room. “What _is_ this?” 

Peter was there in the room in an instant, looking at the cabinet. “It’s where I put thoughts about problems I’m working on. Here, let me show you,” he said, reaching for the cabinet door. For a second, Wade thought about stopping him; the same action had caused him a headache, including when he tried the two other doors. Peter opened the door without hesitation, though. 

“I don’t know why I visualize it like this, but look. Here’s my thoughts on my latest web-shooter,” he said, sifting his hand through a tray that now looked to Wade like a bunch of squirming numbers and symbols. “And here’s the problem I’m thinking about right now.” Peter rotated the top shelf, which cleared up enough for Wade to see the echo of Doctor Strange saying “You can probably fix it yourself, with that framework.” 

“Wait. You said you couldn’t open the doors?” Peter looked sharply at Deadpool; for a second it was odd to be under his gaze so directly, instead of looking at his own body through the window. And to be seeing him without his mask on. _Damn, he’s hot_. Peter shot him a grin. 

“Yeah, the knobs all gave me a headache when I touched them.”

Peter walked over to the door on the right, closest to the cabinet, and opened it to complete blackness. “Here, try walking out of this,” he said, looking a little like Wade felt when the boxes were really laying into him about what a moron he was. “I use this door to try to see other people’s points of view. I guess... it might be a way out of my mind?” 

Wade took a breath, which still held no physical relief, and walked through. 

After a second of feeling completely disorientingly dizzy, he found himself—lying. On a bed. With an unmasked Spider-Man in his arms. Who had just fucked him, and was looking _straight_ at him with those beautiful, beautiful brown eyes. 

“You _did_ it, baby boy!” Wade couldn’t help but take the opportunity to lift up the smaller man and swing him around, hugging him while jumping on the bed.

“Thank goodness that didn’t last for a week,” Peter said, and then paused, looking at him as if he couldn’t decide between being embarrassed or being turned-on. 

“That might have been hot though,” Wade said, and only the mind-blowing orgasm he had just minutes before kept him from getting hard again. 

“It might be fun to have a more… _active_ partner, too, though,” Peter said, and whelp. That was it. He was now at least half hard again, whether he wanted to be or not. 

Peter pushed them back down onto the bed and swung himself onto Wade’s lap, looking him over with great interest. “I like to bottom sometimes, too, you know,” he said conversationally. 

Wade spent half a second thanking the moth-aliens for getting him into this in the first place. 

Peter was _perfect._

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning/summary: Wade and Peter have consensual sex while Wade’s consciousness is in Peter’s mind, leaving his body unresponsive. Wade can see, hear, and feel what Peter does to him, and can communicate with Peter, but can’t do much else. Peter ties up Wade’s body to have sex with him. Wade refers to himself/thinks about himself as Peter’s sex toy, and enjoys that thought.


End file.
